


allegro con brio

by peonydee



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged Up, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peonydee/pseuds/peonydee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien and Marinette steal a few moments for themselves</p>
            </blockquote>





	allegro con brio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikochan_noda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikochan_noda/gifts).



If Marinette is to be completely honest about things, her husband does make things a bit challenging for a harried first-time mother like her. After all, how many women out there have spouses who not only seem to have a mental alarm clock and are able to wake up seemingly few minutes before the baby starts crying, but also casually tinkers Baroque and classical pieces on piano like one might wind up a music box--on demand.

  
Not for the first time, she wonders at Adrien’s breadth, at his genuine enjoyment of the pieces he plays juxtaposed with their mutual love of, say, Jagged Stone. He volunteered a few weeks ago to teach her active listening (as opposed to what, chaton, she had asked tiredly), but she hasn't gotten past chapter eight of the music for dummies book he gave her. It's been far too easy for her to doze off, between the lull of the text and the accompanying playlist of unfamiliar sounds. Even though Emma has been sleeping through most nights, getting their curious kitten to fall asleep in the first place has been challenging.

  
(That's really all Marinette wanted. To be able to select the right kind of music for their kitten at the right time. The whole Mozart for babies thing that was popular in her parents’ generation seems to be misleading. She had once put on “Ah ! Vous dirai-je maman,” hoping to help Emma fall asleep, but the tinny, tinkling music seemed to have stimulated her instead, switching around her sleep cycle for a week--the entire length of time Adrien had been away for a short ready-wear campaign.)

  
It doesn't hurt that he looks absolutely captivating when he communes with the bulky instrument squeezed in their small family room. Ever expressive, Adrien doesn't restrain himself in a private setting, when all he has for an audience is her, barely participating, barely coherent. She sighs with some regret when the last notes of tonight’s lullaby closes with the soft thud of the keyboard’s cover. She had missed most of the show in trying to focus on her book.

  
"Did you finish reading that chapter about tempo and dynamics, Mari?" he asks softly, padding beside her to pat her hair.

"Of course, I did!” she says, ignoring the lance of guilt across her chest. “Over lunch..."

"Hm.” With a lithe finger, he rubs the dark circles under her eyes. There is no hiding them, now that they've been revealed by the nightly ablutions that erased her make-up. “Maybe we should drop the music lessons, bugnette. You're already busy enough what with the guest editorials and the next seasons’ promotions, and Emma..."

"And you, taskmaster?"

"Hmm... And me."

"What's with the purring, kitty? What've you got in mind?"

"Well. The baby is asleep."

Marinette snorts at the subterfuge in her husband's words--or rather the lack of it.

"Why don't we make a show of it, my queen? Show me what you've learned about tempo."

"In bed, I suppose?” she confirms, voice deceptively casual.

"Hmm. Hit two birds with one stone. Take care of self-actualizing activities while paying some attention to your deprived husband.”

Perhaps, it says a lot about both of them that between that conversation and the time it took to sneak the nursery door close, waltz to their bedroom, and undress, each pretending to be not in the hurry the other appears to be, they found themselves to be quite ready without much preparation.

Still, Marinette indulges in a few minutes of simply holding her hubby cat, before catching his face to bestow several tiny kisses around his mouth and face.

" _Arpeggio_ ,” he murmurs. “As opposed to _legato_.”

“I haven't gotten to that part yet,” she says irritably.

"Fine. Tempo and dynamics then. Show me what you learned."

Marinette glares at his imperative tone, despite herself, even as she untangles her arms from about him, lightly shuddering at the sudden feeling of exposure, the relative coolness of the air beyond their embrace. She straddles him.

"Alright,” she says as she takes him into her, sparing a last nervous glance at the baby monitor.

He brushes a soft kiss on her shaking hands, before resting one on his chest and twining the other with his.

"Now, my lady," he commands. " _Adagio_."

Marinette bites back the retorts that came to her mind, lest her taskmaster take offense and halt their session completely. She lifts her hips, mouth slipping open as the friction from her slight movement sends rivulets of pleasure from her belly, her groan suspended till she slides back down. The fullness of him is maddening, even more so when the contrast of his absence brings home the reality that she will be forever bereft without him. With great effort she parts from him once more, rejoins, parts.... the sensations stirring in her with each stroke compelling her to keep moving, until her body begins to move on its own, independent of thought, driven by sheer need.

"This is not _adagio_ , my lady," Adrien tells her. " _Largo_. _Grave_."

Very slow, she thinks, the translation to the Italian terms coming slow to her passion-addled brain. Solemn.

"Maestro should," Mari manages a bit tartly. "Demonstrate. Before demanding so much. From student."

"That's reasonable." He shifts slightly underneath her, holding her steady by the hips, before settling into an even, grounded pace of an evening stroll along the Seine.

She wants to crush the tiny note of smugness in his short pronouncement of " _adagio_ ," but she settles for meeting each of his thrusts with a twist of her hip, tightening her core as if to hold on to him, producing not quite a discordant chord but a syncopated beat. She knows she is exceeding her maestro's expectations from his empathic groans, satisfying applause for now.

She leans forward, to see if his mouth tastes as caramel-rich as the timber of his fine, fine voice. Mari, she can feel his lips form against her, bravo, Mari. Entirely unfair, she thinks, for even as he mocks her and eludes her kisses his tempo never wavers, his thrusts pitch-perfect so she can feel the entire length of his cock with each reentry, feel her flesh shift to accommodate all of him.

" _Allegro_ ," Marinette hisses when she finally catches an earlobe between her teeth. "Now, maestro, _allegro con brio_."

"Shit," he grunts, obviously spurred by her sudden change in direction.

Perhaps, he is surprised that Marinette has already recovered from the uncertainty of their evening’s lessons. Perhaps not--his love is far from being a wilting, delicate flower. Without any outward indication of anything but approval, he repositions beneath her once again, ensuring he could sustain force even as his pace quickens to match her wish, fast and spirited.

"Whoa, Mari. Shit."

"How is that proper concert etiquette, Adrien?" she quips in between breathy giggles. “Aren’t you supposed to save applause till after the performance? Or should I say... It’s your applause that will end your performance, won’t it? Bravo, maestro, do I satisfy you?”

“You skipped over _moderato_.” He slows a bit as if to demonstrate his point, but instead pulls her down to demand a meeting with her mouth.

“And _andante_. You forgot _andante_. My lady, I feel you are but mocking my efforts.”

"Who’s mocking who, chaton? What is this _ritardando_?” Her kisses stiffen into a little moue of displeasure. “How dare you hold back on me! _Vivace_ , please, _molto vivace_.”

Adrien snorts at her lightly before surging up, one swift motion to reverse their positions. He resumed his lively chore with a snap of his hips, garnering a yelp from his student. She seems content at his demonstration now, contented to bruise his lips with lingering kisses, cooing into his mouth her appreciation of his mastery over the meter. Far too complacent, this student of his, he thinks, it shan’t do. They haven’t even covered dynamics.

"Next, I’ll make you show me what _forte_ sounds like,” he promises her in _pianissimo_ , before sitting up away from her. “But I guess we should first finish our lesson in tempo, shouldn’t we?”

He dips his head once again, to garnish kisses on the aching tips of her breasts, apologies for leaving them deprived of the heat and friction of his chest. In answer to her dazed but suspicious frown, he grins, a predator playing with his feisty meal. He grips her waist with one hand before driving back into her in a wicked pace, a breathless run over the Parisian rooftops, his other hand deft in manipulation of the tiny swollen bug there where they joined, there to ignite its smolder ablaze.

"You can’t have forgotten, _presto_ , Mari,” he says between each harried thrusts. “ _Presto agitato_.”

Marinette screams: her first lesson in dynamics ends with a swift crescendo to **_fff_**.

**Author's Note:**

> I... there are no words. Also it was Easter when I wrote this. Oh. And I had the flu. And was febrile. Written on my sunkengardenbroth friend's chatbox, miko-chan


End file.
